


too dumb to give up (too stubborn to change)

by neostigmine



Series: we'll write another story, we're fine [3]
Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: (it's for the second chapter), Nonbinary Maxwell, Other, POV Second Person, Post-Canon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, also alien clone!maxwell, ao3: did you mean-, hera makes brief appearances, no betas we die like men as usual, no i meant what i fucking meant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-01 01:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15132284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neostigmine/pseuds/neostigmine
Summary: it felt like she was missing something. like there was something gone but not quite and maybe if she just looks hard enough or asks the right questions she’ll find it.





	1. we've tried being apart

“hera,” she says, her voice steady and collected, “theoretically, you could find everything on a person, right?”

“theoretically, yes-”

“then find everything you can on me.”

it’s silent for a few moments.

“ev...erything?” hera asks, trying to hide the hesitation in her voice.

“ _everything_ , hera. daniel isn’t telling me everything. he’s...”  _avoiding me_  she wants to say but can’t. can’t like all the other times she wants to bring this up to him, like all the other times she knows he’s withholding something but she doesn’t know what.

“he’s avoiding it. we all are, avoiding something with you three,” hera trails off for a moment, “well, here you go. knock yourself out!” and with that, she’s left alone.

she starts with the simple things, like a cv five miles long and backlog of papers she knows she wrote with material she  _innately_  understands but she knows she can’t explain.

she starts with the simple things, like the person alana maxwell  _was_. the person that got herself emancipation papers at sixteen and graduated mit at nineteen and had a future brighter than the sun.

she starts with the simple things, like the person that took a job offer at goddard after a scathing medium article (though the dates are too far apart for that to be the true reason), the person that...

the person that was (is?) best friends with one daniel jacobi.

it was weird, really. she isn’t sure why she immediately got along with him  _before_  the “hey, you just had your entire personality wiped” speech when everybody else was dazed and confused. it was almost like she  _remembered_  something, anything, from before the... the “nonsense” as they were calling it.

there were comments about it, about how they were acting like two peas in a pod as if nothing ever happened, about how they fell into the same routines on the urania, about how it wasn’t really like she got her entire memory wiped like doug and miranda.

about how maybe she wasn’t the original alana maxwell to begin with.

it was a confusing thought. logically, she shouldn’t be doing these things. she shouldn’t be saying things or doing whatever it is that makes daniel look like he’s seen a ghost. she should be like doug and miranda, current shells of their former selves trying to figure out just  _how_ to be douglas eiffel and miranda pryce.

but she isn’t.

there’s a part of her that’s scared, sure. scared about what might happen when she remembers (or if she ever remembers), how they’ll react, how daniel will handle it.

it felt like she was missing something. like there was something  _gone_  but not quite and maybe if she just looks hard enough or asks the right questions she’ll find it.

it takes her exactly twenty-three hours, fourteen minutes, and eleven seconds to remember.

it takes her exactly two minutes and eight seconds after that to realize what actually happened.

and then,

two seconds later,

“oh, you have  _got_  to be kidding me. hera?”

“what, maxwell?”

“you have the video from the hostage situation, right?”

“i... can find it, yes, why?”

“i need to see myself get shot point blank in the head.”  _pause_  “also, where’s jacobi?”

“i’ll queue that up for you and he’s somewhere over the great plains. should be getting in tonight and he’ll be spending the night at minkowski’s because she’s closer to the airport than you are-”

“ _that asshole_. anyway, thanks hera.”

“have... fun?”

fun, in her case, was watching and rewatching the clip of getting shot point blank in the head for at least thirty minutes.

none of this made any sense. she should be dead she shouldn’t be alive she shoudn’t-

 _fuck_.

 _fucking hell_.

of course. of-fucking-course she was now a goddamn alien clone.

she stares at some spot on the wall for what feels like years before hera pipes up again.

“maxwell?”

“what, hera?”

“you’ve been up for.... almost thirty hours at this point?”

“and?” she really didn’t need this.

“maybe.... you should go to sleep?”

“i’ll sleep when i’m dead, hera.”

the lights flicker for a second.

“or," she draws the vowel out "i can go take a nap right now?”

she wasn’t really aware of how  _tired_  she was. yeah, maybe staying up for almost thirty hours mulling the point of your existence and finding out you are actually an alien clone of the former alana maxwell wasn’t a good idea.

“oh, and go eat something that isn’t ramen with an egg poached with it so you are ‘technically’ eating a protein.”

she groans.

sleeping will pass the time between now and whenever a certain daniel jacobi gets back, it’s whatever. maybe throwing some vegetables in with the ramen would appease her newfound mother of an ai.

it was  _whatever_.

 

* * *

 

“daniel. jacobi.” her voice isn’t as direct and accusatory as she would like it. there’s still a hint of grogginess from the nap she “just” woke up from (hera would argue that she had been up for two hours and was just laying in bed, but whatever).

“what is it-”  _not today, asshole_. he’s unpacking one of his suitcases and from the way he isn’t just shoving things back into the dresser or haphazardly hanging them up, it’s the one he smuggled Something in.

“ _daniel. fucking. jacobi._ ”again, not as accusatory as she would like it, but maybe he’s getting the point.

 _“_ yes alana that’s my name-” he tenses up suddenly, “you didn’t-”

“very funny of you to hide basically  _everything_  from me for the past, i don’t know... six? seven months? is this how you’re treating eiffel?”

“this is  _not_  how we’re treating eiffel because unlike you, eiffel-”

“eiffel’s what? completely reset? there isn’t a chance in hell the actual eiffel is coming back? because he isn’t an alien clone?”

“how did you-” he stammers for a minute.

“hera got me all of the logs and all of the files. i know everything, daniel. i know that i got shot point blank in the fucking head, i know about your little stunt, i know about the fact i’m, oh, you know, an alien clone?”

he’s silent.

“nothing about any of that ever cross your mind as something that was important for shell me to know? hell, the me from when i  _woke up_?”

“well, it did-”

“and what? you decided you were going to just compartmentalize? like you always do? like you always  _have_ -” he lets out a heavy sigh.

“is that’s what this is about?”

“it can be. i was more going for the whole ‘you left me alone again you asshole’ angle.”

“are you  _still_  upset about that?”

“no, i’ve moved on from upset to...” she angles herself so there absolutely no way he could run even if he wanted to, “seething with anger. i must say, having six people in on the coverup must’ve been  _hard_ , especially when eiffel’s known to blab his mouth and kepler must’ve been  _dying_  to tell me-”

“it wasn’t-”

“it wasn’t like that?”  _there are exactly five things i could stab him with_  “okay, sure, i’ll entertain you. if it isn’t like that, how come eiffel and pryce haven’t remembered anything?”  _two of which won’t leave that much of an entry wound so, theoretically-_

 _“_ it wasn’t like that because we were waiting to see if you  _were_  going to remember all of it on your own. we knew whatever the hell bullshit pryce pulled didn’t work on lovelace, but we weren’t sure if  _your_  stunt would have worked the same way-” he stops suddenly, “you look like you still want to murder me?”

“sure do, jacobi! i sure do!”  _four things now, he’s blocking the stupid scissors-_  “is kepler dead?”

“yeah, rachel jettisoned him out the airlock. she surprisingly didn’t bleed out and i figured we could shove pryce onto her when we got back-”

“i  _do not care_ about rachel, daniel,”  _deep breaths calm down_ , “what i care about is-”

he moves before she can even register it. he has his hands cupped around the sides of her face.

she  _also_  doesn’t register when he leans in and kisses her with  _something_  that’s just short of desperation. it’s different from his usual kisses (those had more bite to them) this one is...

this one is like he’s trying to make it mean something.

like he’s trying to make up for everything.

he pulls back for a moment, like he’s gauging her reaction and if he just made everything so much worse. 

 _god,_ she forgot how much he tasted like smoke and whatever explosive agent he was messing around with as of late. it was something she, somehow,  _missed_  after everything.

it was the only thing she missed, if she had to be honest. 

“you are so fucking insufferable, you know that, right?” she says before her hands find themselves clasp at the back of his neck.

it’s quiet. it isn’t the tense quiet that punctuated all of the pauses and silences, it isn’t the tense quiet that punctuated car rides after missions when somebody messed up and missed a mark, it was more the quiet that would find its way to break rooms and forgotten corridors.

a gentle quiet, really.

one that she hadn’t felt in  _so_ long.

“but you wouldn’t have me any other way, would you?” he kisses her again-- this time something light and quick at the corner of her mouth. he has that the smirk on his face that signals that he knows he isn’t wrong.

she hums before standing on her tip toes. “that’s debatable,” she punctuates it with a peck on his nose, “i could do without the... how did you put it?  _unconventional grieving process_?”

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” he pulls her into a hug before stepping back, “you good?”

she tilts her head and hums again, “no, but i’ll get over it.” she gives his hand a light squeeze.

he needed the reassurance that it was really  _her,_ that she really  _remembered_ , that this wasn’t just a cruel joke or some kind of fever dream. and yeah, if she had to guess, she needed that reassurance too.

he has it, if the way he leans back in and kisses her again means anything; this time with all of the desperation and fire and hunger he was holding back before. she finds herself leaning into it, leaning into him, so far as to subtly push him so his back is against the door frame. she’s leading him down a path they’ve been down so many times, one filled with spent explosives and bad ideas and words better left unsaid; one that was so familiar that the coaxing she was doing was entirely unnecessary.

well, unnecessary for her. he always needed the coaxing, like he really wanted her permission and reassurance that she wanted this. she never pried into  _why_ exactly, but it wasn’t her place to really know about it if he didn’t want her to-- kind of like how he didn’t pry about any of her identity baggage after the initial “just don’t insinuate i’m female, okay?” discussion that felt like so many lifetimes ago.

it was funny, really. if she actually thought about it, they were each other’s exceptions to whatever arbitrary rules they had subscribed to in order to survive in one way or another. it’s like she knew she wouldn’t get burned (that much) if she let down walls and, in turn, he wouldn’t get burned either.

like they were always supposed to be here in this moment.

she pulls back with a  _slight_  tug on his bottom lip-- just enough to let him know he could continue if he wanted, but she needed a breather first.

“missed you, alana,” he whispers, almost inaudible.

“missed you too, daniel,” she says, resting her forehead on his shoulder, “glad to be back.”

(the sleep she gets that night is the best she’s had in months, she realizes. there’s more likely reasons why it’s the best sleep she’s had, like how she went to sleep at a decent time and  _actually_  slept through the entire night, but if she’s being really honest with herself? it was from being curled up beside him, hands only slightly intertwined.)

 


	2. i think we're thinking too hard

“hey, ‘lana?” you can tell he’s half asleep. you blink and stretch a little before turning over to face him.

“yeah?” you yawn.

“how long have we been a thing?”

“depends. do we start where i put you down as my next of kin or do we start with vegas?”

“really? you start with when you put me down as your husband-“

“i felt comfortable enough doing it. the nurse got a kick out of it,” you prop yourself up just a tad on your elbows, “kepler only wanted to shoot me where i stood for five minutes!”

“no, that was because you accidentally set off the silent alarm-“

“i was being shot at!” you laugh a little before continuing “i mean if we’re being technical about it, yeah.”

“and if we’re not?”

“that one time in paris. you know, the first and only time you ever saw me in a dress that i couldn’t really sit in?”

“the one with the slit up the thigh?”

“no, the silver one with all of the beading and the way too short hemline in the front. i mostly stood around that evening because of it.”

“oh! that one!”

“yeah, that one.”

“what about it, then?”

“you remember when we ditched kepler and the gala and everything and went to that hole in the wall bar?” he nods “we got so shitfaced-“

“you did. i’m surprised you remember anything after that point-“

“oh?” you flop back down unceremoniously, “then if you think you remember more about this very important part of our fucked up relationship than i do, then by all means, go ahead.”

he sits up. “well,” he coughs like he really needs the pause, “after i cut you off at nine shots of whiskey, we did the usual tourist shit like the eiffel tower and whatever.”

“it was just the eiffel tower, daniel,” he rolls his eyes, “anyway, please continue”

“anyway,” he draws it out with a groan, “we get back to the hotel and we’re just sitting there, you out on the balcony and you were staring at the damn thing like if you looked away it wasn’t gonna be there anymore,” he pauses for a moment, “and you know what you said to me?”

you feign like you forgot it, “not that i remember?” he knows you remember. you’d always remember it, honestly.

“you turned towards me and leaned against the balcony railing and-“

“i asked if i could kiss you, right?”

he’s trying to not smile, “yeah. and i was like a deer in headlights because you never asked that before and you looked so fucking beautiful out there in the moonlight like it was a scene out of a movie or something so in my mind i was thinking ‘what the hell alana’ but what i said was-“

“it was more of what you did, but continue.”

“so i got up from sitting on the bed and walked out there and you had this look on your face that you get when you’re figuring something out and you asked me again, that time more certain and-“

“you said i never had to ask and i said it was the principle of the thing-“

“so i told you you could and i swear to god that was the best kiss of my life up until that point and i don’t know why-“

“because i realized i actually, genuinely loved you. you remember anything else?”

“i just remember thinking i could get used to that and then getting you to bed and staying there because you have such a grip when you’re needy”

“you don’t remember what i said when you were half asleep?” he looks at you slightly confused

“i asked if you wanted to get married for real after all of this was over. just you and me, some little chapel somewhere, we change our names and move abroad and just... become human beings again.” you crawl into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck. he’s looking at you dumbfounded, like he wasn’t expecting that.

and he called himself the sentimental one.

“offer still stands,” you kiss him lightly, “we can do it tonight if you want, daniel.”

“that... that would be nice. though...” he trails off

“what?”

“we’d have to add a few people to the guest list,” he shifts a little, “out of formality,” he kisses you back, “if you want.”

“if i want...” you cup the sides of his face and lean into him before letting your arms settle around his waist. he leans back to accommodate the sudden weight, “who did you have in mind?”

“the usual suspects,” he rolls his eyes a little, “you know, our favorite ai, my second favorite alien clone and her girlfriend, our previously-an-idiot comms officer...” he trails off.

“wouldn’t that just be our second favorite alien clone’s girlfriend and our comms officer?” he looks at you confused again, “given that, well, our favorite ai would be my maid of honor and our second favorite alien clone would be officiating it, no?”

he kisses you again, slow and lazy and almost sickly sweet. you loved it when he was like this; when he let down every wall and would let you in without you having to work for it. it was a very well deserved departure from how weird he had been before you Remembered. he acted like anything he did was going to shatter you into a million different pieces and he wouldn’t be able to pick them up again.

you don’t dwell on theorizing how far he would’ve gone if he actually lost you. _hell_ , you don’t like to think about how you would’ve handled it if everything was reversed; you got enough of that with the whole “would the real daniel jacobi please stand up?” thing.

he notices that you’re starting down that rabbit hole. he pauses before deepening the kiss; it isn’t the same deepening that lets you know he wants _more._ it’s the deepening that reels you back from wherever your thoughts were going. it’s a familiar sensation, but this is the first time, you think, you’ve ever been on the receiving end of it. you were always the anchor when he got too wrapped up in his own head, there for so many nights where he spilled every bottled up emotion he had. he always felt bad about it afterwards, going on about how he was being an emotional leech and you always replied with if he was being an emotional leech you would've told him to go get a therapist. besides, you would add, you would do the same thing sometimes so does that make you an emotional leech too?

it was nice, honestly. it was nice to finally take things slow and sweet and not having to weigh the pros and cons of being exactly a minute late to _whatever_ lest you get one of kepler’s speeches.

you aren’t sure how long you stay like that until the blare from his alarm jolts the two of you out of whatever bubble you were in. he fumbles for his phone on the side table.

“have plans today?” you ask, pressing light kisses onto the side of his neck.

“yeah,” he rests his chin on your shoulder, “wish i could cancel them.” he nuzzles closer into your neck before pushing you back and putting his hands on your shoulders.

“oh? you have a date and didn’t tell me?” you feign personal offense

“if by that you mean ‘two disasters take on goddard futuristics: the dry run’,” he pauses for comedic effect, “then yeah, i have a date today.”

“well, good luck,” you roll off of him and stare up at the ceiling, “tell her i said hi.”

“you could tell her yourself if you wanted,” he yawns and rubs his eyes, “we do need somebody who knows the computer system like the back of their hand-“

“i would _love_ to, jacobi,” you stretch your arms, “so are we going to be monsters again?”

“if there’s a good kind of monster, yeah.” you think about it for a second.

“the road to hell is paved with good intentions,” he looks at you like he doesn't know where you're going with this train of thought, “so why the hell not, right?”

he smiles. you both were so far from redemption in the eyes of every religion, but it was worth a shot.

it was always going to be worth a shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honesty hour: i wasn't planning on writing this anytime soon but sometimes you get a specific comment and suddenly you have a google doc titled "i am a creature fueled by whiskey and spite" n that's just how it be i guess.
> 
> anywayyyy questions/comments/concerns/whatever can be sent to my tumblr ask box if you so desire.
> 
> also the dress i was imagining while writing this is [ this lil number](https://78.media.tumblr.com/60457bed1c56b3a0ff1c33cf2af9b728/tumblr_pb05r1kFJX1sms0ibo6_540.png) from michael cinco's ss 2017 couture collection. it's blue in the actual runway photos but i like it better silver-y so /shrug

**Author's Note:**

> the last bit of this was mildly inspired by it is what it is by kacey musgraves. partly bc maxcobi as fuck partly bc whenever i write maxwell i /have/ to listen to country.
> 
> anyway this right here is the hill i will, in fact, die on. come ask me more about the maxcobi sham marriage of my dreams over on tumblr @ jacobiapologist


End file.
